Embarrassments revisited

Wayne's still smarting over last week's hay incident, and mentioned this to my mother. She replied that she thought we were both right, and went further to state that she really felt for him.

Oh really? It must be one Saggitarius sticking up for another, because she didn't once feel MY pain when she subjected me to similar incidents (and often worse).

Take the daffodil incident.

The scene: spring of '77 and we'd only recently returned to NZ after nearly twelve years in Oz. I was barely 14, and at that awful awkward age (acne, achingly shy, always embarrassed.. and what's worse my accent made people pay attention to me, which is something I could have done without).

Mum and I were out driving around in the countryside, enjoying the way NZ throws itself into spring.

(Brisbane tends to say "Oh, spring? That's the five minutes of wet weather before it gets really hot, innit?" No spring bulbs, no burgeoning willows, no sudden lush growth and vitality)

Soon we passed that most idyllic chocolate box setting - a country cottage with a low picket fence, and a front yard exploding with daffodils. Mum pulled over and said "Go in and ask them if you can pick some daffodils for your poor ailing mother".

(At this point I should mention that despite being in her 50's, "ailing" was a complete contradiction in terms. The woman was as fit as a buck rat, and twice as resourceful.)

Naturally, I refused on the grounds of sheer mortification.

She persisted.

I resisted.

But she's been a mother longer than I've been a daughter, so who do you think won?

With heavy feet and scarlet cheeks, I plodded up the path and knocked on the door. The woman who responded had sharp twinkly eyes, looked to be in her mid 40's, and stood there half smiling as she wiped her hands on her apron.

Somehow I stammered out, "May I please pick some daffodils for my poor ailing mother?"

"Oh?" The woman replied, grinning. "An invalid is she?" At this I realised her gaze was fixed over my shoulder so I turned as she spoke.

Just in time to see Mum nimbly clear the small fence and begin helping herself to the daffs.

The lady was either too amused to say no, or else she was quickly adding up who among her friends would enjoy a good laugh in the retelling.

On my way back to the car I was very annoyed - most of all with the ground for not opening up and swallowing me.

I did remember to thank the nice lady though.. my mother might be shameless and manipulative (with the most engaging of grins), but she always expects good manners.